in tenebris est veritas.
Another glint of a grin takes form on her mangled mouth, perhaps seen only by the creature whose eyeline sits so much lower than hers. She drops the gore crow gladly into Belial’s restless fangs, amused by his enthusiasm, then accepts the slain lizard in turn. Its warm blood seeps onto her hand as she examines it, feeling gently at the abdomen with her thumb.
“I have never read an animal’s fortune,” she mentions, as if telling a joke. Then she looks between the two quarries and, taking a cue from the seated peryton, guides her own bird onto the ground. The lizard’s tail is clenched between her teeth as she rummages through her bag, leaving a trickle or two of dark blood to soak into her bodice until she can find some twine to tie it to the strap. As she does so, she adds, “But I have never met an animal such as that one.”
Chaele’s toes point down the path, eager to see the end of it, but she does not pick up her quarry until either of the others move to continue. “Potential,” she repeats, her inquisitive pitch shifted sharp by the topic of the divine. “My readings do not presume a definite future, either. They are often riddling, and require interpretation. Nothing is written, after all. Who could have predicted one of us would meet a god?”
“I have never read an animal’s fortune,” she mentions, as if telling a joke. Then she looks between the two quarries and, taking a cue from the seated peryton, guides her own bird onto the ground. The lizard’s tail is clenched between her teeth as she rummages through her bag, leaving a trickle or two of dark blood to soak into her bodice until she can find some twine to tie it to the strap. As she does so, she adds, “But I have never met an animal such as that one.”
Chaele’s toes point down the path, eager to see the end of it, but she does not pick up her quarry until either of the others move to continue. “Potential,” she repeats, her inquisitive pitch shifted sharp by the topic of the divine. “My readings do not presume a definite future, either. They are often riddling, and require interpretation. Nothing is written, after all. Who could have predicted one of us would meet a god?”
